The Care and Feeding of a Teenage Boy
by bugsfic
Summary: A series of vignettes set during the first season of Major Crimes, capturing little moments between Sharon and Rusty
1. Chapter 1

Day 1:

The wine glass was empty. Sharon's head was a bit light. Dinner, she needed dinner._They_ needed dinner. It was a _they_ for the foreseeable future. Rising from the couch, she wavered on her feet momentarily, then made her way to her bedroom, past the closed, stubborn door to her spare bedroom.

After changing into jeans and a USC sweatshirt, regretfully leaving her bra on, Sharon tapped on Rusty's door. "What do you want for dinner?" she said crisply.

No answer. Well, that crap would have to stop, right now.

She opened the door, actually surprised to find it not locked. Rusty was on the bed, shoes off, reading one of the books her son had left behind on his last visit.

"Dinner," she barked.

He slowly lolled his head over in that way teenagers do which drove her insane. "I'm not into Lean Cuisine," he said, his gaze traveling from her furious eyes down her slim body. "I'm fine."

Ignoring the fact that half a dozen boxes of the frozen meals were in her freezer, she said, "I cook. What do you want? Pasta or veggie stir fry?"

The heavy sigh. She gritted her teeth. "I guess stir fry," he dragged out. "Vegetables sound good. Don't get much of those on the streets."

Concern immediately replaced her frustration. "What about the foster homes?"

He wiggled his white-socked toes; a show of agitation. "They just toss down nuked chicken tenders every night."

She took a closer look at his socks. One was dingy gray, one was close to white, but with red stitching on the toe; they obviously weren't a pair. He'd been wearing the same clothes for two days, she realized. "Do you want to do laundry?" she suggested leadingly.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," he mumbled.

Let me show you the set-up," she said briskly, "and then I'll start dinner."

Routine. Chores. Yes, parenthood was coming back to her.

He dragged his camouflage print knapsack behind him to the condo's laundry closet. His worldly possessions seem to be in it as he put aside his chess set to remove crumbled, pungently odored clothing. There weren't very many items.

"That's all you have?" she said, then regretted it as the mule expression that came on his face.

"I travel light."

"Why don't we wash what you're wearing too, then," she said.

He flushed and she rolled her eyes. "There's some things in the bedroom. My son's...He's pretty tall though...My daughter's sweatpants would probably fit you."

He flushed redder but she ignored that and started sorting.

"What are you doing?" he fussed, grabbing at his clothes.

"Separating the whites...And I used that term lightly," she said, holding a pair of underwear by her fingertips, "and darks."

"What?" He looked confused.

"We'll bleach the hell out of these whites," she said, staring at the one dingy sock on his foot. "And you don't want to bleach your jeans, right?"

"I guess not," he said uncertainly.

She waved a hand at him. "Go find something to change into."

He returned in a few minutes, yes, wearing her daughter's sweatpants, although a bit snug, and her son's green football jersey.

"Give me those socks too," she commanded.

He toed them off.

"None of your socks match," she commented, shoving them in the washing machine. She might as well start the load for him.

"Yeah," he said, a coldness there.

She peered at him over her glasses. "Boys can never keep track of socks."

He pursed his mouth. "It's not that. That last foster home, the 'mom' made you put all your socks and underwear in some bin and first come, first serve in the morning. No socks were matched together. When I got ready to leave, I just grabbed a handful. Didn't have time to find some pairs, let alone the good ones I came with."

Turning away so he wouldn't see her face, she poured bleach in the cup. "We'll get you some new socks then."

"You don't need to do that."

"They're just socks."

"I'm not gonna be here that long," he protested.

"We'll see about that-"

"When you find my Mom," he said, turning the knife. "She'll buy me socks."

She closed the washing machine's door and started the cycle. Facing him, she said, "Fine. But for now, I'll get you some new things."

He ate all his dinner, but she wasn't sure if that was an endorsement of her cooking or his state of perpetual teenage boy hunger. She needed to stock up more food...

The dryer buzzed. "I'll get that!" Rusty pronounced, jumping up from the table.

She didn't argue with him about it. It had been another long day. Any new job was difficult, but her age, and now with this boy...

After putting the dishes in the sink for now, she trailed down the hall to check on his progress.

He was stuffing his clean clothes into plastic shopping bags he'd found in the closet. She cringed to see the newly washed items wadded up and wrinkled already. "What are you doing?" she protested.

"Getting 'em ready to go," he said, his chin sticking out stubbornly. "Gonna be raining soon. Things get wet in my backpack."

She took a deep breath. She wasn't going to rise to his bait. "There're empty drawers in the dresser in your room. Use them."

As she headed back to the kitchen, he tucked the plastic bags full of clothes in the hall closet near the front door. She paused for a moment, considering stopping him, but then decided to choose her battles. She knew there would be plenty of them soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 2:

"School?"

Sharon turned into the shopping center parking lot. "Yes, school. You remember that place. Text books, Pee-chee folders, chalk dust," she lectured Rusty as she cruised the aisles, looking for a parking spot.

"You can't just shove me in a school," he protested.

"First, yes I can. It's the law. Second, I won't just _shove_ you in one tomorrow."

He looked relieved but then asked suspiciously, "What kinda school? Like one of those alternative schools that they send the juvvies to?"

"Of course not." Another car cut her off from a good spot. Pursing her lips, she went down another aisle. "It is a private school, but that's so I can assure your safety. It's St. Joseph's High School."

"A religious school?" He looked confused.

"There's just one class a day that has any religious studies. The rest is perfectly normal. They even teach evolution. Catholics believe in evolution."

"I'm not Catholic," he said.

"That doesn't matter." Finally finding a spot, she parked the car. "You will have to take a placement test first, so I've gotten some study materials for you to review."

He opened the door and hopped out to glare at her over the top of the car. "Placement test?" he said, indignant.

She glared right back. "Unless you spent your time on the streets home-schooling yourself?"

He hunched his shoulders and hid behind his long bangs.

Her door slamming shut made him look around. "What're we doin' here?" he asked, suddenly aware they were in front of a Target.

"Socks," Sharon said, heading toward the brightly lit entrance. It had been a long day with the hanging Chad but she couldn't take looking at those dingy socks, even after bleaching, for one more day.

He started to protest but slunk after her rapidly walking figure, sighing deeply.

She yanked a big red plastic cart loose from a tangle of other carts and pushed it through the opening doors. "Put your pack in," she said, nodding to the basket.

He glanced around. "They don't let me keep my backpack in these stores."

"Who?" She looked around too.

"Security."

Raising her chin, she told him, "No one's going to bother you with me here."

"Okay," he muttered, flopping his bag in. Sure enough, as they headed down the side of the store with clothing, a large man in dark clothes closed in on them. Before he could say anything, Sharon flicked open her blazer, revealing her shield and gun on her hip.

The man moved away without a word. Sharon turned her cart to cut between displays of socks and underwear. Rusty remained in the main aisle for a moment, watching the security melt back into the crowd of shoppers.

"Rusty," Sharon barked, getting his attention. He hurried to join her.

She held up two packages, one striped boxers and one white briefs. Mortified, he snatched both out of her hands and shoved them back on the display. "Sharon!" he hissed.

"What?" She rolled her eyes. "I've got a son, Rusty-"

"Well, I'm not _your_ son," he grumbled, flipping through the packets of underwear, looking for his size.

She watched him. "No, you aren't."

He removed a pack of three pairs of black briefs with bold grey lettering around the band. She squinted at them suspiciously.

"Are they too expensive?" he said quickly, checking the price tag.

"No..." She'd seen that same black waistband exposed by many a pair of drooping jeans. Call her old-fashioned, but Rusty wasn't going out looking like that-

"All right," she said grudgingly. "Get two packages. That's a week's worth of underwear."

"I've still got some pairs-"

"Which we shall burn. Some strange boy's underwear..." She turned to the socks. "White for these, I suppose-"

"They're just socks." Rusty grabbed two packages and dumped them into the cart. She tossed another pack in. "Socks tend to disappear in the dryer," she explained.

She put in a package of white undershirts, ignoring Rusty's continued grumbling.

"Pajamas?" she suggested leadingly. Rusty pretended not to hear her. Refusing to use the guest room, he had slept the first night on the sofa, with his backpack on the floor right by his head. Frankly, she was surprised when he had been there in the morning.

Seeing he wasn't going to respond, she pushed the cart out into the main aisle. "I guess we can grab some food as well," she muttered.

He perked up. She was going to remain resolute though. No junk food. Perhaps some granola bars and a flat of bottled water...

Twenty minutes later, exhausted, she pushed toward the toiletries section. She'd managed to fight off the 'vitamin' water and Red Bulls, but had allowed one four-pack of bottled Starbucks coffees. There were two large bags of Lays potato chips, but at least the cookies were made with organic oatmeal.

"I've got stuff," Rusty mumbled when she looked over the deodorants. He was blushing again.

"You could use more," she said a bit unkindly.

Pursing his lips, he snatched one off the shelf and tossed it in the cart. Just glad it wasn't Axe, she led him to shampoo aisle.

After waiting what seemed like forever for him to select a shampoo, conditioner and numerous other hair products, she asked uncertainly, "Do you need razors?"

"Yes," he said huffily, snatching a slender razor and some shaving cream of the shelf.

She pushed the cart past the condom display quickly and headed to the checkout, at last. As her purchases moved along the conveyer belt toward the indifferent clerk, she added a trial pack of headache medication.

The total kept going up with each item run over the bar code reader. Rusty looked more and more distressed. Sharon was checking her phone-thank God, no messages or texts from work-and rooting for her wallet in her deep purse.

"Uh, Sharon..."

"Yes," she said, distracted as she was trying to remember her PIN.

"Can I get a job?"

"A job?" She blinked at him through her glasses, confused.

"Yeah. I can do real work, you know," he said, blushing.

"You don't need to work," Sharon said, dismissing his puzzling anxiety. "Other than putting those bags in the cart," she added, nodding to the pile of red and white bags.

While pushing the cart toward her car, he returned to the topic bothering him. "The state is gonna reimburse you for this, right?"

"For what?" She still wasn't paying attention; another bright store sign caught her eye across the shopping center.

After she opened the trunk, he loaded in the bags. "For all this," he said stiffly.

She finally understood what was bothering him. "Don't worry about it," she said.

Stubborn, he folded his arms and stayed outside the car as she slid behind the wheel. She rolled down the passenger window to look at him. "What is it?" she asked, her voice sharp.

"I don't think you should be wasting your money on me. I mean-" He wave his hand around. "I could be gone tomorrow and you'd be out that two hundred bucks."

Damn. She hadn't put those aspirins in her purse; they were in one of the bags in the trunk.

"Then I'll just wear those briefs myself. Get in."

His mouth fell open comically but she kept her face impassive. He finally opened the door and sat.

She drove to the Old Navy store.

"Now what?" he whined.

"You've been wearing those same jeans for three days now," she pointed out as she parked in front of the second store.

Herding her reluctant charge, she selected another cart. This time, he'd wisely left his backpack in the car.

"Jeans," she suggested, finding several racks. She turned to face him, making eye contact and staring him down. "No drooping allowed."

"Jeez, Sharon-"

"My money, my rules."

"I'm not the one demanding that I get new clothes," he grumbled.

She looked over the mannequins. "I will concede to a lower crotch-" He blushed again and she seriously wondered how he survived as a street hustler. Then she realized his customers probably paid for that very quality and she frowned even more darkly.

Taking her expression as targeting him, Rusty snatched a few pairs from the shelves and headed to the changing room. While he was in there, she selected two pairs of chinos in the size he'd taken and added them to the cart. He'd need them for school but she wasn't going to waste her breath arguing with him about the unfashionable slacks.

He peeked out around the changing room door. "Did you want to see?"

"Yes, I wish to verify the waistline," she announced.

He looked around quickly to see if any of the customers heard her, and sure enough, two other teen boys quickly turned away, smirks on their faces.

He stomped out. "See," he said, waving his hands at the only slightly droopy jeans.

"Lift your shirt," Sharon said, not fooled for a moment.

He flung back his head dramatically. "Oh my God!" But he yanked up his shirt. She walked slowly around him, checking how low the waist rode on his narrow hips with her narrowed gaze.

Grudgingly, she nodded. "Okay."

He stomped back into the changing room without another word.

When he came out and tossed the pairs into the cart, she mused, "How could I know that I'd be going through all this again? Of course, with my son, the jeans were too tight. The problem changes but the headache remains the same."

"Guess you're just lucky that way," he said sarcastically. Frowning, he noticed the kaikis but didn't say anything about them.

She whipped the cart around the store, giving him little input other than color choice as she added a hoodie, a couple of sweaters, and some tee shirts to the pile.

But he did protest, loudly, when she reached for a lime green and black messenger bag.

"I've got a backpack," he growled.

"It's much too large, and God knows where it's been," she said artlessly. "You'll need something smaller for school."

"It's mine," he said.

Opening her mouth to try and make it see logic, she was stopped by his expression. Gone was the mulish set to his features. There was a naked pain in its place and he was holding his breath. She didn't know the story behind that faded and tattered backpack with its red star stitched on the top flap, but she didn't need to. She placed the brightly colored messenger bag back on the rack.

"I'm starving. How about you," she said casually.

Rusty released that breath. "Yeah."

She pushed the cart toward check out. "Want El Pollo Loco?"

"Sure," he said, "can I have two burritos? I'm really hungry all of a sudden."

"Sure," she echoed, feeling oddly relieved.


	3. Chapter 3

_Set during Major Crimes 1.4: The Ecstasy and the Agony_

Sharon closed the blinds to her office, blocking out Rusty's curious face. He had been playing a video game on the computer while sitting at an empty desk. The time of studying was over. He'd completed the placement test yesterday and Sharon had sent them to the school immediately.

The administrator for St. Joseph's was calling with the results at that moment. Sharon picked up the phone again. "Thank you for waiting, Ms. Castillo."

"I realize how busy you are," the other woman said cautiously.

"I have time for this," Sharon said, trying to remain patient.

"We've carefully review Rusty's scores, as well as the few school records you were able to send us-"

Sharon began to tap her pen on her desktop.

"This is most irregular-"

"Surely you've admitted other students who've missed a year of study before." Sharon pointed out.

"I've consulted with the Vice-Principal for the boys, Father Mark, as well as Mrs. Weathers for the girl's. We have concerns-"

"Concerns?" Sharon said, her tone turning dangerous.

Ms. Castillo didn't back down. "As a police officer, you can see where we're coming from-"

Sharon interrupted again. "No, I cannot. Were you able to make a decision?"

The administrator took a deep breath. "Rusty did well on the tests, all things considered."

"He's a very bright young man."

"Yes, well...We're willing to place him in the sophomore class with other children his age. After the holiday break tests, we can re-evaluate if necessary."

"It won't be necessary," Sharon said, determined. "I'd like him to start classes as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow is fine," said Mrs. Castillo. "I'll email you his teachers and classrooms."

Sharon thanked her and hung up the phone. Before calling Rusty into her office to tell him the news, she allowed herself a moment to give a dignified fist pump. It had been a tough few first days, but she felt as though they had turned a corner. Rusty was going to school.

But after the incident on the very first day with Rusty fighting, she was feeling less confident. When she allowed her anger to dissipate, she still found herself frustrated.

And the boy gave her nothing but more resistance hours later: _I can go to Catholic school, I can be civil, as long as we both admit, sooner or later, I'm gonna have to leave and start over somewhere else._

She didn't expect Rusty to fall into her arms with gratitude for the shelter she was offering-truth be told, she didn't have time for this new job and emotional neediness from him. The confrontation while she made their lunches was draining enough. But she couldn't stop herself from worrying.

As she spent the next day checking her phone every hour to assure the school wasn't calling again, she made a decision.

When she picked Rusty up from school, she steered toward the shopping center again. From within her purse, her credit card groaned.

"Now that you've been there a couple days, are there any school supplies you'll need?" It had been so many years since Sharon had outfitted a child for school, she wasn't sure what was necessary anymore. She looked at his huge worn backpack sitting at his feet on the car's floorboards and kept her thoughts on that to herself.

"Nah..." He peeked up from under his hair. "They are going to give me a laptop to use...I mean if I get to stay."

"You're going to stay," Sharon said definitely. "That's good. You shouldn't be on the LAPD laptop anyway."

He rolled his eyes but didn't reply.

"Anything else? Notice any more clothes you want?"

"You bought me a bunch of stuff." He sounded resentful.

"I don't know what's in style though."

"I don't care about that," he grumbled.

After pulling into the center's lot, she began searching for a parking spot. "For now," she said tartly

He only hunched his shoulders, then noticed where they were. "I tol' you, I don't want any more clothes," he said.

She parked in front of the cell phone company store. "It's not clothes. I think you should have a phone if you're going to be getting in trouble. _You_ call me, not the school.

As a pilgrim approaches a holy site, Rusty slowly walked around the bright showroom, his face enraptured at the displays.

Sharon cut off the saleman. "I have a contract already. I want to upgrade to the family plan and get another phone for my-" She waved a hand at Rusty weakly.

"Son?" the young man said helpfully.

Rusty flushed. Sharon cleared her throat before giving the clerk a pained smile but no reply.

This shopping expedition was just as exhausting as the one for clothes and food. In the end, the clerk transferred her iPhone 4 to Rusty and she allowed herself to have the newest version. Any other teenager would have sulked and whined to have to 'settle' for the older model, but the boy just cradled the phone in his palms and stared at it, not once touching its still pristine screen.

"Give me the protection plan on that one as well," Sharon said to the clerk.

As they left the store, she decided tonight was another drive-thru night. She even let Rusty select Fatburger.

Studying the illuminated menu board, she yelled into the speaker. "Can you take the bacon off the salad?"

_"Uh..."_

Rusty gave an impatient sigh but when she shot him a quelling look, he was entranced by the phone, downloading apps.

"I've put parental controls on there, you know."

No response.

_"Uh, no, we can't take the bacon off,"_ squawked back at her.

"I'll have the turkey burger then!" she bellowed, leaning halfway out the window.

"Why are you getting that?" asked Rusty.

She only glared at him again over her shoulder. "What do you want?"

"And actual cheeseburger and fries, please," he sneered.

Sullen, she passed on the order. "And a chocolate shake," came from behind her.

Beaten, she added that to the order, and pulled up to pay. Her credit card's numbers were being worn off, she noticed as she handed it through the window.

After she shoved the greasy wrappers into the garbage can in the kitchen, she told Rusty, "Homework, now. Put that phone _down_."

Another heavy sigh, but he shuffled on his stocking feet to the couch. Wincing, she wondered how long it would be before she needed to buy more socks for him.

But the schoolbooks came out in a convincing tableau of homework being done. The phone remained on the dining room table.

"When are you getting that laptop?"

"They said something about you calling with a credit card for a deposit," Rusty said, his nose buried in an algebra book.

It was her turn to sigh. She poured a glass of wine and moved to her desk. She had her own homework.

About an hour later, the young man slunk back to the table toward the phone.

"Rusty-" she warned.

"Just takin' a little break," he promised. "My brain hurts."

"It's out of practice. You need to work it back into shape."

Intent on the screen, he didn't answer. "There's your old pictures," he told her.

She glanced up over her glasses. "Just the kids, right?"

"I guess." He bit his lower lip as he looked at the photos.

"You can send those to me later," she said. "Just don't delete them, please."

"I won't," he said with an edge to his voice.

"You can take your own pictures," she suggested.

"Of who?" he said, still peevish.

"They don't have to be of people. Take pictures of anything." She waved her hand around before returning her fingers to the laptop keys.

He shuffled back over to couch. "I guess I should add your number," he mumbled.

She told him the digits, and then started rattling through the rest of the squad.

He complied, but muttered: "Great, I'm the kid whose friends list are all cops."

"Nothing wrong with that," she said gently. "You'll make friends at school; don't worry."

He didn't reply, only pressing his lips together as he fiddled more with the phone.

After a moment and seeing he didn't want to talk, she returned to her work. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Rusty begin to take photographs. She'd set the phone to make a clicking noise when it took a picture, needing that old-fashioned sense that something had happened.

_click_ His chess set on the side table.

_click_ His backpack by the couch.

_click_ His white-socked feet, propped on the coffee table.

_click_ Pointed her direction, then the phone was snatched back down and he examined the screen furtively.

She hadn't looked up. She hated posing for photographs. "Lights out at eleven. Better get back to your homework," she said.


	4. Chapter 4

_A bit of Sharon/Andy UST in this one, for those who enjoy those moments. _

Sharon tried to focus on Rusty's school application but her vision became clouded. Blanco, her beloved cocker spaniel, the flip of his tail disappearing around the street corner as she called and called his name, the last she'd see him. Brett Turner's wide shoulders in a black leather jacket, his arm draped around Cathy Smothers' waist, walking ahead of her at the mall. The school bus doors closing behind her daughter's back on the girl's first day of school. The tilt of Jackson's head as he went through the door, suitcases in hand, waiting for her to call him back.

She hadn't.

She drained her wine glass and set it on the coffee table, missing the first few tries before she had it standing upright on the surface.

Rusty could start school next week, and everything would be normal. Lunches to make, more laundry to do, homework to nag about. A familiar routine, and routine was good-

Her cell phone's text alert chirped and she nearly knocked over that damn wine glass again trying to snatch up the phone. She looked toward Rusty's room, but the door didn't open.

_Still up_ from Andy Flynn.

_yes_

_Can i come by_

Her fingers hovered over the smudged screen for a moment before she typed: _yes_ then _text when you're outside. Rustys in bed_

She made her way carefully to the front door, cradling her phone. Leaning against the wall, she waited for the text to chirp again. When it did, she rang Andy in and cracked the door to listen for his footfall.

He peered through the opening. "You okay?"

In an awful moment, Sharon realized she was drunk. And he was a drunk. Or had been a drunk. Now he was a reformed drunk. She shouldn't let him know she was drunk-

"I'm sorry, I've been drinking."

His eyebrows rose comically. "Yeah."

Sharon Beck was probably a drunk; she'd seen the way Rusty watched a wine glass go to her lips, the worry in his gaze, but she'd refused to change her small pleasures because his mother couldn't control her behavior-she should really stop drinking...

"The kid's okay?"

"I guess so," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. "He's gone to bed."

"You think he's gonna stick around?" Andy didn't try to enter, but leaned against the doorjamb too, so they were inches apart.

"He came home, didn't he?" she said.

"Maybe he didn't have anywhere else to go."

"He could have stayed on the streets," she pointed out.

"Yeah...Pretty smart how he found his way back here."

She smiled, her lips quivering. "Yes."

"You should get to bed," Andy said, his voice low. "But I just wanted to apologize-"

"It wasn't your fault, Lieutenant-" Why was she using his title, she wondered.

"It's not that-well, some for that. It was a total rook mistake to turn my back on him." Andy shook his head, frustrated. "No, it's for callin' Rusty a psycho-"

"I understand-"

"I didn't realize that you'd gotten attached to the kid. It was rude."

"Thanks," she said, no idea what else to say.

He shifted on his feet. "I guess I could see you were getting attached, and I was gettin' worried. These kids can break your heart-"

She was sure Andy Flynn knew about breaking hearts...Horrified, she heard herself giggle.

Instead of being insulted, Andy slowly smiled. "That's better," he said quietly. "You were lookin' pretty wrung out there."

Tears prickled at her eyelashes and she was mortified even more. "Thank you," she choked out.

"Is everything okay?" came from behind her and she spun so fast she nearly fell. Clutching at the wall, she tried to smile confidently at Rusty.

"Of course. It's just Lieutenant Flynn. Checking on you-" Why did she feel she needed to explain?

In his plaid sleep pants and baggy tee shirt, Rusty rubbed his white-socked foot on the other. "Hey, there...Lieutenant," he said awkwardly, dropping his head in embarrassment.

Andy finally stepped into the condo. "Hey, Rusty. How ya doin'?"

"Fine."

"Sorry if I woke you," said Andy. "I'll head out-"

"I heard a man's voice...I don't usually come out when I hear a man, but it's you-" He waved his hand at Sharon.

She pursed her mouth.

Flynn covered his grin with a wipe of his hand that brushed back his thick hair.

Rusty straightened. "I owe the guys $500," he said with a sense of dread. He nodded toward Sharon. "If you'll let me, I can get a job-"

"School will be starting soon-"

"I can work after class," he said stubbornly.

Andy stepped between them. "Don't worry about it."

"I don't like having debts. We'd owe too much money and we'd have to move-"

Sharon reached for him but dropped her hand before it could touch.

"I'll tell you how you can pay us back," said Andy. "Don't run off like that again."

Glancing quickly from man to boy, Sharon was ready to defend or even lie to cover for Rusty's disappearance.

Andy kept his level gaze on the young man. "I get that you want to be alone sometimes. I was a kid like you once too, you know. But just be straight with me. 'Andy, I'm gonna sit in the car for a minute. Take a walk.' That's all I needed to hear. Got it?"

Rusty nodded quickly. "Okay. I'll remember."

The older man extended his hand and after a moment's hesitation, Rusty shook it.

"I'll head out then," Andy said but he didn't move.

Rusty didn't make any movement toward his bedroom either. He looked pointedly at Flynn.

"Uh, goodnight, Captain," Andy said to Sharon, putting out his hand for her to shake.

Fighting back those giggles again, Sharon took his hand. He held hers for longer than to shake it, his smile back.

"You better get to bed," he finally said. "You've had a long day." His eyes were laughing at her and she was grateful he didn't suggest she needed to sleep off her buzz.

"Yes, you better come to bed," Rusty said sharply and Sharon dropped Andy's hand like it was a hot iron.

"I'll see myself out," Andy said as Rusty herded Sharon toward her bedroom.

She stumbled along, nodding at the sound of the front door closing. At her bedroom door though, she waited for Rusty to enter his room.

"I'll see you in the morning," she said, not liking the question in her voice.

But his smile was reassuring. "See you in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

Lurking by Lieutenant Tao's desk, Sharon cleared her throat and his head shot up.

He'd been studying a set of photos from a murder scene intently. "I'm sorry, Captain, you were saying?"

She gave him a pained smile. "It's nothing." She turned to go.

"No, it's okay," Tao reassured her and she faced him again.

Provena peered around her at Tao. He ignored the senior detective.

"Yes, Captain," he prompted.

"I was wondering...What the going rate for a teenager's allowance these days?"

Tao spun in his seat, obviously thrilled to be asked. He began to explain his complicated calculations. "I apply a dollar for every year of their age as a starting point. My kids can add to this accumulation by completing extra duties, but don't get paid to do the basic cleaning and upkeeping of our home, and definitely don't get paid for grades. In fact, poor grades can lead to a docking in pay." He shook his head definitely.

Flynn and Provenza exchanged raised eyebrowed expressions.

Sharon crossed her arms and nodded. "Yes, yes...So fifteen dollars a month?"

"A week," conceded Tao.

"A week? That's sixty dollars a month!"

"Kids' expenses these days-"

Provenza had to break in. "I got a quarter when I was a kid!"

"Yeah, but your cell phone was two cans and a string," pointed out Sanchez, leaning in from his desk with a grin.

The older man hunched his back and grumbled under his breath, leaving the conversation.

Sharon thanked Tao absent-mindedly and wandered back to her office. Flynn followed her.

"So the kid's been shaking you down for money?" he asked as she sat at her desk.

Blinking at him from behind her glasses, Sharon said, "Not at all. But I think he needs to learn to handle money-"

"He was bringing in a lot more than sixty a week; I bet he was making over sixty a night. But I guess you're right. His budget for the streets would be different than as a Catholic school kid."

xox

Sharon had grimaced at her Lieutenant's observation but later, as she handed the ten and five dollar bills to Rusty and say the light in his eyes, she definitely felt uncomfortable. The way he tucked them quickly away in his pants pocket after checking the amount in a flick of his fingers, showed an experience beyond a usual teenager's.

"So if you're getting tired of my lunches, you can buy a school lunch," she said lamely.

"Your lunches are fine. I still need to pay the squad back for pitching in to bring my mom to L.A," he said with determination.

"They're not expecting their money back," Sharon protested.

"I told them that I'd pay them back," Rusty said stubbornly.

"On Saturday, we'll go to the bank and open an account for you," said Sharon, changing the subject. "And get a debit card for it. You could buy apps or music for your phone-"

His eyes lit up again.

"But you need to keep on budget and save money every week," she lectured, but he was already scrolling through his phone.

xox

The next day, Rusty gave five dollars to Andy Flynn, asking him to distribute the funds among those who contributed to the bus ticket for his mother.

Flynn shifted on his feet. "Sure, kid. But you know you don't need to-"

Sharon gave a little wave to stop Flynn.

He kept going. "It's not like she got here, after all," he said, stumbling along.

Rusty dropped his head, as though to hide his flaming face.

"But thanks," Flynn said, trying to cover his gauffe.

"I know that I can use the money," Provenza announced from his desk.

All the squad shot him dirty looks and he shrugged, indifferent to their judgment.

xox

The next week, Rusty brought his five dollars to Andy on Monday, after being paid on Sunday, but Sharon noticed that he ate her lunches all week, even taking extra snacks to school. She was used to her children buying the horrible junk food that she wouldn't bring into her house, but apparently Rusty was made of sterner stuff.

But she did note that his face was beginning to have more pimples. She purchased some special soap and pointedly left it in his bathroom, but his complexion only worsened.

Six weeks after she began Rusty's allowance, Flynn sidled into her office and closed the door.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" she said, glancing up from the report which she was reading.

He peered out through the blinds to where Rusty was doing his homework with Buzz.

"Thought you should know..." He rubbed his neck, vexed. "I don't like to rat-"

"What is it," she said, a touch impatient.

"The kid...He hasn't given me the five bucks in two weeks."

"Oh." She removed her glasses. "Well, you told him that you didn't need to be repaid."

"And he insisted that he was going to do it," Flynn pointed out.

It was her turn to look at Rusty through the office window. "Okay," she said cautiously.

"I wouldn't care, but I'm wondering what he's spending the money on." Flynn folded his arms across his chest and focused on her intently.

She did a quick mental inventory. She hadn't seen him buy anything at the stores when she brought him along. No wrappers in the garbage, not even one candy bar.

Logging into their bank's website, she checked his account balance-zero. Her breath catching, she checked his debit card activity. Only cash withdrawals eating up his small saving account within the first three weeks; no online purchases.

Andy had come around to look at the screen. "That's not good," he said unnecessarily.

"Drugs?" she dared to say.

"Can't be anything but some weed with only fifteen bucks," Flynn said, offering some cold comfort. "Or I suppose a rock of crack."

She looked up at him in horror.

"I'm sure it's nothing. He's just used to having a lot more money to spend," Flynn said lamely.

"But what is he spending it on?" she mused, looking at the young man again through the glass.

At that moment, Rusty glanced up and met her gaze. His weak smile looked guilty...Or was it just her imagination?

xox

That evening, while Rusty showered, she decided to 'clean' his room. She'd had some trouble with her son and pot while he was in high school, so she felt well versed in the signs. Looking for the telltale ashes, she peeked under the bed, in the bedside table drawers, and dared to brave the closet, only staggered a bit from the smell of his laundry pile.

All the while, she flicked a feather duster around, so when Rusty came in, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, she had her cover set.

"I'm cleaning," she said quickly before he could even ask.

He glanced around frantically. "Kinda late-" he noted.

"Just in the mood," she said, giving him one of her pained smiles.

He snagged his backpack that sat by the door. It made an ominous clanking sound and sagged under some great weight.

A bonge? A crack pipe? Booze bottles? Sharon's mind raced.

In the meantime, the boy had slunk out of the room. She followed.

He was rummaging in the kitchen.

"Let me help," he said with a stilted tone. "I'll take out the trash."

Carrying the white plastic garbage bag that was only half full, he went out the front door...And took his backpack with him.

Sharon watched him go. She must look in that backpack.

But when he returned, the bag was notably lighter and made no sound when he placed it by the door.

Sharon watched him out of the corner of her eye as he rooted in the bag and removed his laptop and a text book. That was all right. She had the target. She just needed to stake it out.

xox

Two days later, Rusty left his backpack by the door again as he took his phone to his room, involved in some cryptic conversation with a classmate.

Sharon immediately leapt upon the bag. Undoing the buckle on the top flap, she realized this was only the second time she'd touched the backpack since she'd placed a Ding-Dong in it. That seemed a long time ago.

His gym clothes...An effect booby trap. But she kept digging and her hand closed around a cold, glass shape. She pulled it out, her heart in her throat...An empty Yoo-hoo bottle. And another, and another...

"What are you doing?" Rusty's worried voice said from the hall.

She rocked back on her heels. She'd feel embarrassed if he didn't look so devastated, his face red and blotchy with anguish. He i_was/i _hiding something.

"I've been worried that you're keeping a secret from me," she said levelly. "And it appears I'm getting closer."

She kept digging through the bag, but only found more empty bottles and finally one half-full.

Lining up the half dozen bottles, she stood. "Rusty, where is it?"

"What?" he whispered.

"Whatever you've been spending your money on."

He leaned on the wall, clutching one arm tightly. "You see it," he mumbled. "I...I have a problem."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Picking up the half-full bottle, she removed its lid and sniffed. Just the cloying odor of overly sweet chocolate.

"I can't stop..." he moaned. "I've tried, but I can't..."

Understanding dawning, she looked at the bottles again. If this was his new supply since he emptied the bag yesterday...

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh...She giggled, then slapped her hand over her mouth when she saw his face crumple.

"I'm so sorry, Rusty," she gasped. "Really, I understand-"

"I thought I'd left it behind on the streets," he said quietly. "I used to drink it...A lot."

She breathed very slowly and deliberately, keeping herself from laughing again. "It was always there," she said encouragingly.

"In every Seven Eleven," he said with a nod. "And it took the taste out of my mouth."

Her legs suddenly weak, Sharon sank to sit on the couch arm. "But you don't need it anymore," she murmured. But she understood. When she'd tossed Jack out the first time, she found that a good Shiraz could wash the bitterness from her mouth.

"I guess not," he agreed, tears in his eyes. "But I can't seem to stop...And I've blown all my money-"

"I noticed," she said, feeling on familiar ground again. "Maybe you shouldn't try to stop cold-turkey. Let's just have you cut back slowly, and one day, it'll just be gone."

"You think so?" he asked, hope in his voice.

She gathered up with bottles, determined. "I know so."

Holding out the half-empty bottle to him, she said, "Do you want this?"

"I..." He bit his lower lip. "No. Might as well start now."

"You know, you don't have to let go of everything at once, Rusty," she said after putting the bottles in the recycling bin. "You have nothing to be ashamed about and sometimes running from the past only leads you down a darker path."

He finally laughed. "Darker than a Yoo-hoo addict? Don't scare me!"

She dared to drape her arm around his shoulders. "It'll be all right," she promised with her lips against his temple. He sagged against her for a moment, and she remembered the long months of anxiety with her son and his drug use. Something told her an addiction to a sickeningly sugared drink may turn out to be just as strong.

~ end


End file.
